The early morning dew covered the few patches of grass within the dense pine forest. A chill breeze wafted through the needles and the droplets from last night's rain fell to the ground in sparse drips. The ferns and ivy that covered the damp earth shook to announce a visitor. And from the calming green foliage, shuffled a small, dust colored rabbit.
It sat with it's ears perked, sniffing and scratching at the ground. To the left and to the right its small antennas swiveled. Then, when it felt the area safe from predators, the rodent hopped into the tiny glade and feasted on the soaked moss. Every now and then it would pause and listen to the forest's whispers. And when it would find no sign of danger, it would begin its feast again.
The moss crinkled as the rabbit chewed its meal. The songs of birds carried far throughout the wood. The drops of rain plopped against the creature's nose. No scent of foxes or weasels carried on the wind.
Another pause. The rabbit stood as still as a statue, ears turning in every direction. There! Through its peripheral vision it watched the ferns shudder and sway. It readied itself to spring should the intruder be hostile. With fur bristling, it pawed the dirt anxiously. The ferns parted.
A rabbit much like itself entered the glade. The original lowered itself back into a calmer position. The newcomer observed its brethren, seeming to absorb its eating and pawing.
The first beckoned the second to join in its breakfast. With no answer the rabbit repeated its motion. Again, it's companion only stood. It stood far too still. It did not turn its ears, it did not sniff for predators, it sat and watched the rabbit with a hawk's stare. The rabbit sniffed the air and stiffened. Danger, it sensed. Danger, flee.
But it was far too late. The true rabbit sprung to life and barreled towards the clearing's edge, only to be caught by a crushing, flesh covered claw. It screamed and shrilled, thrashing and kicking at the beast. As soon as the screaming started, it stopped as the rabbit felt several small thorns pierce its hide and worm its way into the animal's flesh. The rabbit went limp in the damp grass with its eyes glazed over in numbness. It was dragged back through the foliage by those thin hooks and disappeared from sight. And the forest was left none the wiser.
"Didja hear dat?" Scout asked as his attention was drawn from the inked paper in front of him. Sniper looked up from the book he had been reading and listened. They sat in silence as the drone of the light sprinkling outside took center stage. In the distance and through the starting rain, Sniper heard the cawing of crows and the creaking of the pines.
"Nothing but birds and the trees, mate."
"No, not dat! The screaming," Scout rose from the table and stumbled to the door. "There's something out there, man!" he spoke as though someone unsightly was listening to their conversation.
"Kid, the only thing out there is crows, foxes, and junkies." Sniper deadpanned, ignoring the burning glare he felt on his neck. He didn't need Scout going on about his monster this early in the day. The markman had woken in a sour mood, he had slept wrong and there was an awful crick in his lower back. And of course, Scout was already awake by the time Sniper did, and needless to say, he didn't trust the kid to not rummage through his belongings while he was out.
"And pumas. You forgot pumas."
"What the bloody h*ll is a puma?"
"Cougars. Y'know, Mountain Lions?" a muffled voice responded from the outside as Scout had his head poking out the open door.
"Oh, right. But Oi don't think there are going to be many around here. 'Specially near the roads."
"Yesterday you said it was a Cougar dat made dat screamin' ya heard." Growled The Scout. Pinching the bridge of his nose, Sniper sighed. This was going to be a long day.
"Yeah, Oi did. Because it very well had been one. We also have been driving for almost three days away from Sawmill, where Oi heard it. We have to be at least two hundred kilometers from that feline." The man set aside the book about the different usages for fungi he had been reading and turned to look at his companion. Scout had stuck his head back inside and was busy ruffling his slightly damp hair, sending little droplets onto his own clean but slightly stained top.
"Two hundred kilos, huh? Translated into miles, that's like... a lotta miles, it sounds like. Then how come we're still surrounded by stupid pine trees? And da fact that this storm's been following us too!"
"Are you going to eat your food or what?" The grumpy Australian glared at the also grumpy Bostonian, too tired to answer anymore stupid, jabbing questions. Across from him lay a plate of untouched eggs and toast, forgotten for over thirty minutes.
"'M not hungry." Scout said as he went to grab his unfinished drawing, stuffing it into his borrowed jeans pocket. "And we need ta go."
"Oi haven't seen ya eat a single crumb since this whole thing started!" It had been two days on the road and Scout never touched any of the food Sniper offered. His cooking wasn't the greatest but he certainly wasn't the worst of the group, that title had to go to either Soldier or Pyro. Last night and the day before, whenever a meal was placed in front of the boy, he would either ignore the food or play with it, and to be honest, it was annoying Sniper to no end. It didn't help that Scout wasn't sleeping the best either, given that there were slight bags forming under his dry eyes. He didn't care if the kid starved himself of food and sleep, but lugging around a constantly crashing Scout would be more annoying than cooking for two.
"I'll chop down on some jerky while we drive, can we get movin' already?" Scout fumed, tapping his impatient foot.
"We ain't leaving jus' yet, not until that plate is empty." The boy eyed the cold food.
"C'mon, man, it's probably stale now anyway."
"Well that's your problem, isn't it? And until Oi see ya scarfing it down, this van will remain parked." That got through to the stubborn mongrel. Scout's eyes flickered back and forth between the meal and the door, obviously weighing the options presented to him. A flash of concern and then back to a grimace as the runner sat down and shoved the food into his mouth with unnatural speed.
"Don't choke," Sniper advised. Scout glared and opened his mouth to spit back a retort only to start hacking as food lodged itself in his throat. With a roll of his eyes, Sniper went back to his reading. A few minutes passed in relative silence when Scout stood so fast that the force rocked the camper.
"Alright, I'm done. Now let's get outta here and on da road!" He barked.
"And Oi'm hoping ya know exactly where to go and how to get us there, yeah? Oi'm going to need directions to the closest base." Sniper asked as he stared pointedly into the boy's frustrated eyes. The fire in them died as Scout's anger fizzled away into worry.
"Uh, wh-what? But, but you said dat you know where Landfall is! And how ta get there!"
"No, Oi said that Landfall is probably the closest base and that we should look to get there. Ya told me last night that ya knew where it was so we're relying on you to get us there."
"I did?" Scout asked. When Sniper nodded, he did the only thing Scout was better at doing than running. He doubled down. "Well, yeah, no doubt dat it's cause I'm great with directions! Da human compass is what I am! So even though I don't remember ever sayin' dat, to you, I mean, I probably did, because I'm so great at readin' maps and stuff." Scout bluffed, not noticing the Cheshire grin forming on Sniper's face.
"It's just dat, since you're da one with da actual car ta drive, and while I am really good at survivin' by myself, like, really good, you're basically da poster boy of outdoor livin', ya know what I mean? So I was guessin' dat you'd also know where Landfall is, and since you already know where it is, you wouldn't need me feedin' ya directions and distractin' ya with talkin' when you're supposed ta be focused on da road, y'know?" Scout's dramatic monologue came to a pathetic end as Scout tried giving a confident smirk that wasn't convincing at all.
"Actually, it helps to be given directions while driving, that way Oi can keep all moi thoughts on the road ahead. Well," Sniper stood with a stretch, feeling his back pop, "let's get going then. Put your plate in the container so we can get a move on." Sniper gestured to the plastic bin where he kept dirtied plates while driving. Owning glass and a mobile home would be a recipe for disaster if Sniper didn't have this kind of insurance. He hopped out of the van, but not before catching the petrified look Scout had on his slim face. Sniper climbed into the driver's seat just as Scout scrambled into the passenger's, looking ready to spill his guts out.
"Okay, look. I may have exaggerated back there, okay? I really don't know why I told ya dat I know da way ta Landfill. Cause I frickin' don't, alright? I always nap when relocating cause rides are frickin' boring! 'M not reliable for dis, okay? I can't get us ta Landfall!" Scout gasped after his confession, speaking so fast that he didn't allow himself time to breath. Sniper stared at the runner, his piercing gaze making the younger man squirm in shame. Then, Sniper smirked.
"There may be a reason whoi ya don't remember telling me those things," The marksman scratched his jaw with a guilty chuckle, "cause ya didn't. Oi was just pulling your leg there, mate. Oi know how to get us to Landfall." The last sentence barely escaped his lips before a furious punch lodged itself in his upper arm. Well, as much punch as you can get from a stump. Scout swore as he cradled his nub. Sniper leaned on the steering wheel, grinning at his own clever jest.
"You son of a-!" Scout raised his actual fist when a distant, petrifying shriek echoed down the wooded slopes. Then silence as the pair stopped and time seemed to slow. Sniper had shot up when the scream rang out and made like a statue, listening for another. Scout's red face paled faster than the speed of sound. A second scream rose from the far trees, sending a murder of crows to the clouded sky.
"...See!? I told ya I heard somethin'!" Scout hissed, hand gripping his seatbelt so tightly that his knuckles were as white as his face. Sniper was quiet, his gaze turned out his side's window. His fingers drummed along the steering wheel in thought. The marksman then turned back around with a strange expression.
"Do ya know what that was?" Sniper asked. Scout nodded.
"It's da thing-"
"No, ya loon, it's two foxes getting it on!" The boy stopped, opening and closing his mouth like a fish on land. He found his words a couple seconds later.
"There's no way some red cat-dogs could have pipes dat high!"
"Do ya know what sounds foxes make, mate?"
"Well, no-"
"They make bloody weird ones, especially during mating season. If ya ever think you're hearing a sheila scream like a banshee out in the middle of the forests, best to assume it was a fox. Learned that the hard way when Oi heard a pair while doing moi business, thought some poor woman was getting beat, or worse. Oi made moi way through the bushes and trees, only to find the lovers doing their business-"
"Okay, okay, I get it, man!" Scout interjected, the color in his face still faded. "Can we just get going already!? No point in stayin' ta hear some animals bangin'!" Sniper obliged, starting the ignition. A rumbling purr shook the vehicle and the van started. As the pair made it onto the glistening road, Sniper snuck a look into the closest mirror, watching those distant trees grow farther and farther away. In his peripheral vision, Sniper spotted his doubtful, unease filled face.
They drove on in long wary silence after that, the only sounds slipping through were the pounding rain, the rumbling engine, and the gentle swooshing of the windshield wipers. The sky grew darker the further the duo drove. The rain was like a river. It poured and drenched the road until there was a noticeable sheen of water covering the asphalt. Whatever speed they might have had was swallowed by the current. Sniper slowed the van to a crawl. It would be a death wish to go any faster, the flooded road would prevent any traction if the van sped out of control.
As the windshield was flooded with so much water that any and all surroundings looked distorted, Sniper rolled his window down and stuck his head out. He had to immediately plant a hand on his hat, for a strong gust threatened to steal it away. The sky was dark, too dark for ten in the morning. Even with his vision no longer obstructed by the van's main window, the rain was too dense to see anything beyond the van's headlights.
Sniper figured that he was a pretty patient man. He didn't let his emotions or temper affect his work. Well, he tried to at least, and to great success most of the time. But the sudden storm, the inability to see ten feet ahead even with the wipers at full power, and the fact that he couldn't say for certain if what he and Scout had heard was just a hormonal fox, left Sniper with far too many straws for his poor camel to handle.
"No, please, do go slower," Scout mocked with an exaggerated posh tone. Sniper narrowed his already narrow eyes.
"Do you want us to get into a nasty crash that will most likely kill you and knock me out? No?" Sniper growled at the Bostonian, "Then Oi'd keep your big mouth shut! And put your bloody seat belt on!" Sniper snapped as he smacked Scout upside the head. After rubbing the pain away, Scout reluctantly obliged, giving the markman a nasty scowl in the process.
"Stupid frickin' Aussie…" the runner mumbled, his voice so quiet that Sniper almost didn't hear him. Almost.
"Want to run that by me again, mate?" His voice was tight, and the grip on the wheel tighter.
"Huh? Did ya say somethin'? I wasn't listenin'." Scout said. Another straw was added. There was a fine line that Sniper had that divided what he could put up with and what he couldn't. And Scout was using it as a tightrope. The Australian took a deep breath and began to count to ten.
"And are ya sure we can't go any faster than a frickin' snail?" Scout asked, craning his head to staring out behind them through his window. "Cause we can't be stuck out here in da storm, guy." Scratch that, thirty was a fine number to count to.
"Oi know that, Scout," Sniper said through clenched teeth once he reached thirty, "And like Oi said, unless ya want to crash, We. Can't. Go. Faster." The mood was growing as horrible as the weather. And Scout seemed to be aiming to make it as miserable as himself.
"So what!? Bedda than being stuck out here in a frickin' storm! Da fasta we get outta da hills, the fasta we get ta Landfall! Besides, I'd ratha get knocked up in a stupid car crash than get stuck out here with something dat ain't human!"
"Oi'm the one behind the wheel and this is moi van. We are not going faster! And there isn't anything following us! I've been checking the mirrors."
"Bulls**t!" Scout shouted. "I know for a d*mn fact dat those screams weren't some stupid fox!"
"Yeah, cause you're the expert in all things animal, aren't ya?" Sniper jeered with no hint of humor.
"At least I know more about what attacked us than you, Smart*ss! You got yourself knocked out and booked it da second you heard it howlin'!" Scout snarled before a wicked sneer twisted his facial features. "So much for bein' such a great outdoorsman."
"Watch it." Sniper warned.
"Aw, did I strike a nerve, pally? Did ya realize dat maybe ya ain't as good as a hunta as ya thought ya were?" Sniper didn't respond, eyes fixed on the road. His cold shoulder was taken as an invitation for Scout's insults.
"Or maybe ya ran cause you're just a frickin' coward! Dat's always what you snipers do, just kill people from far away cause ya don't have da guts ta look 'em in da eyes, face ta face, when ya off 'em! After throwin' ya own p*ss at 'em too! What kinda professional does dat-!" The van's sudden silence brought Scout out of his vitriolic rant. Scout had no time to ponder when he was shoved back into the door with a painful SLAM! Two bony hands grabbed his shirt and jerked him up and pinned him to the glass.
"Listen here, you tiny, pathetic, roach!" Sniper shook Scout in emphasis, his eyes and chest burning with ire. "Oi've had it up to here with your ungrateful *rse! Oi could have just left ya there to bleed out back in Sawmill, and Oi should have! In fact, Oi could leave ya here to get killed, since you're so convinced that something's following us. Do ya want that, ya little Mongrel?" Scout's sat there in shock, staring at Sniper with eyes like saucers.
"Do ya?" Sniper shook him again and Scout shook his head. "That's whot Oi thought. So here's whot's going to happen,
"You are going to be quiet, as quiet as a church mouse, for the rest of the ride. Oi don't want to hear ya complain, or mumble, or sigh, until we find a place to stop. And if ya won't stay quiet, I'll tear off whot's left of your sorry excuse for an arm and shove it down your throat! Got that, kid?" Scout nodded. "Good, Oi'm keepin ya to that."
Sniper let go of Scout's now crinkled shirt and leaned back into his own seat. Taking the ignition key, Sniper glanced back at his companion. Scout was keeping his word. The runner was sitting very still in his seat and found great interest with his stump's wrappings. Good. The pounding in his skull hadn't gone down though, so Sniper took a deep breath and released it. That helped. But not by much. Sniper turned the ignition and felt that familiar rumble give way to sputtering.
Sniper furrowed his brow and turned the key again. More sputtering. Again and again he tried to get the van to start. No dice.
"...you've got to be f*****g kidding me." He growled before stepping out into the storm. It nearly barreled him over when that cold wind roared past him. Instantly he was soaked, and with nothing but his hat to protect him from the elements, it would continue to drench him with freezing rain.
Sniper made his way to the van's hood, sending small waves through the flooded road. Ignoring his now soaked boots, the marksman pulled open the hood. Everything looked fine. And that was a problem. How the bloody h*ll would he figure out what was wrong with the d*mn vehicle? He leaned on the van and observed the mess of pistons and fusion coils that to him was like a second language he barely spoke. He groaned, and stood. Rivets of water fell from his hat and slid down his back, sending shivers up his spine.
Sniper looked up and spotted Scout still within the van. The dry, warm inside of his van. And yet here he was, outside, soaked and cold, trying to fix a problem Scout had to have caused. Another straw was added. The final straw.
"Scout, quit sitting on your bloody *rse and get out here!" Sniper shouted. Through the sudden red haze, Sniper watched as Scout scurried out of the van before getting blown straight back in. Another try and with some struggle Scout closed the door.
"Get over here!" Sniper snarled. In less than a second Scout stood by his side, stiff as a board.
"Oi'm guessing Engie didn't teach ya about car engines." He growled. Scout opened his mouth, shut it tight and shook his head. "Ugh, course he didn't. So you're basically useless here."
"What's wrong with it?" Scout wasn't able to stop himself in time. Sniper whipped his head around in rage.
"How about Oi shove your head in the engine and you can figure it out yourself!" He roared. Despite how cold the rain was, it did nothing to cool Sniper's temper. Scout backed away with the slightest limp. Bringing a calloused hand up, Sniper rubbed his eyes to dispel the loathsome red from his sight and waved dismissively at the silent runner.
"There's an old toolbox in the van. It should be in one of the lower cupboards or in the storage under the bed." Sniper spoke with a low voice. A moment passed then Sniper looked over to see that Scout hadn't moved an inch. "Ya waitin' for Swissmiss or whot? Go get it!" Slipping on the asphalt, Scout managed to enter the van.
"Bloody useless tyke…" Sniper muttered as he looked through the engine once more. There could only be a couple reasons why the engine would stop so suddenly. The first would be that the van could be low on oil, which was impossible since Sniper had just done an oil change two months ago. The second would be that it had gotten damaged somehow but that didn't seem likely either. Maybe it was the starter that went bad? The battery perhaps? That red haze had faded in a mute crimson mist and the cold peppering of rain began to intrude Sniper's senses again.
"Oi! What's takin' so long!?" Sniper shouted over the deafening droplets. "Or are ya trying to keep us stuck out here!?" No answer. Of course. He went back to thinking of the possibilities.
A sharp slamming stole Sniper's attention, causing him to look up. With some exertion, Scout stumbled over to the heated Australian. In his arms he held a rather large toolbox and an even larger tacklebox overlaid with some kind of fabric.
"Oi said the toolbox."
"I didn't know which one it was!"
"Ya couldn't have looked through them?"
"Ya told me not ta go through your stuff!" Scout was correct, unfortunately.
"Give that to me." Sniper grabbed the heavy load and balanced it on the van's open hood. "Now go and put this one back." He shoved the tacklebox into the smaller man's arms. And like a loyal servant, Scout did.
Sniper opened the toolbox as the third thing Scout brought caught his eye. It's waterproof fabric cracked and fluttered in the wind. He had forgotten all about it. His raincoat. And the crimson mist that clouded Sniper's vision faded away.
Taking his hat into his hands, Sniper set the precious attire onto the hood and slipped the coat on. It wasn't even slightly warm, in fact, it felt colder than the outside. But at least the pestering rain wouldn't be able to break through the jacket's defense. He reached into the toolbox, pulled out an oil stained torch, and clicked it on.
Sniper didn't know how long he stood there, working on and dissecting his vehicle's motor. It felt like hours and it felt like seconds simultaneously. At some point Scout had come back out to watch Sniper work. He wouldn't have even known the runner was there if that prickling feeling of being watched didn't pop up. The kid was so quiet, and if he wasn't so focused on screwing a fickle bolt back into place, Sniper probably would have thanked Scout.
A light tapping on his shoulder brought Sniper out from under the open hood. Without a word, Scout took the torch from Sniper's hand and held it up high to cover the entire engine in a yellow spotlight. A nod of thanks, and Sniper continued his mechanical battle.
After another thirty minutes and with no noticeable progress made, Sniper was ready to admit defeat. Scout was too, the slight shaking of the light was evidence enough. The storm had only gotten worse during their sudden pitstop. Through the pounding downpour Sniper was certain he could hear the deep rumble of thunder. Just bloody perfect.
With a huff, Sniper slammed the hood shut.
"Scout," The man in question jumped in response and caught the keys Sniper had thrown his way with a shaking hand, "go try to start her up, Oi need to know if Oi got her working." The runner jogged over to the driver's seat and got in. Through the distorted glass, Sniper watched with bated breath as Scout put the key in the ignition. Once again, the sputtering was the only reply to the pair's hopes.
"Try it again!" Sniper shouted over the fray. More sputtering.
"Again!" More sputtering, and that slight hope Sniper felt was drowned out by the rain. They were still stranded.
Then, a flash of white illuminated the dark clouds above followed by the roar of thunder. Oh no. As fast as the lightning, Sniper was at the driver's side and opened the door.
"Awright, so Oi got some bad news."
"Oh, do ya!?"
"Don't get snippy with me, kid! Now, we can't stay out in the road and in the open during a thunderstorm."
"Yeah, no kiddin'."
"So, Oi need ya to run on ahead and search for a place where we can park the van until the storm passes. Or at least the worst of it, awright?"
"Dude, ya can't just send me out there alone! Not with dat thing still around!"
"This isn't a choice, Scout, now c'mon! Make yourself useful!" Sniper grabbed Scout's arm and pulled him out of the van and into the ornery Mother Nature. Another flash of lightning broke through the rain, much closer than the last. Seconds later, an earthshaking crack filled the air.
"Look, you're the quicker one, and you'll be able to find a place ahead much faster than me. Just be thankful Oi ain't making ya push the bloody van, awright? Now get to it!" Sniper shoved the runner along. Scout looked back with a glare before running away into the distance. The longer Sniper stood and watched his companion, the more the rain melted the figure away, until Scout was no more than a mirage that flickered into nothingness.
Well, he'd get nowhere just standing here, so Sniper walked over to the back of the van. Placing his cold, calloused palms onto the camper's back, the marksman pushed. And thankfully, the vehicle gave. It rolled slow against the smooth concrete of the deserted road, occasionally making a light crackle whenever a small rock was crushed under the tires.
Another distant roar of thunder met Sniper's ears. Most of the impact was muffled by the accompanying downpour but it was still loud enough to get Sniper to push harder against his van. It was kind of funny, how much of this repetitive task reminded him of his job. Payloads weren't Sniper's preferred missions, but they weren't his least favorite. Most of the time he would simply stay behind to give his mates some much needed defense against any enemy Heavys, Demos, and Medics. Only on rare occasions when his team were too injured to continue the objective would he help push the cart.
On one triumphant payload mission, Sniper had actually taken out his RED counterpart. Some bloke from Austria apparently, who had been giving his team a real *rse beating, getting Demo's right elbow, Heavy's left hip, and straight through Soldier's throat. If it hadn't been for Medic's quick timing and a well placed dispenser, the patriotic lunatic would have bled out on the battlefield.
The man had managed to hit Scout's left knee, leaving the runner unable to push or even walk. That was when Sniper stuck a bullet right between that bugger's eyes, after the Austrian had stepped out to finish the kid off. Of course, after the match ended with a slim victory, Sniper was temporarily placed on RED until the Administrator could find another mercenary to fill the role. It happened to everyone. A counterpart on the opposite team would get offed, and his team, whichever one he would be on at the time, would have to fill that role until a new replacement was found.
That was how he met his Demo, Engie, and Scout, actually. He had been on RED back then, and his team's Demo, Engineer, and Scout had been killed during a Capture Point mission. Sniper didn't even know their names, only that their Demo was some old guy from Iceland, the Engineer was from South America(from what country though, Sniper couldn't recall), and the Scout was a guy from Cambodia. They had all met grizzly ends to the hands of the BLU team. And Sniper didn't care, it was part of the contracts they had signed. But then Demo, Engie, and Scout were placed on RED, and Sniper got to know them. Or more accurately, they forced their way onto his acquaintances list.
Somehow the teams got switched around so much that now his team was the one he knew and, well, respected, to this day. These nine men, himself included, were the unkillables. Even after four years of working and fighting for those old bags of wind, none of them had ever gotten a fatal injury, at least ones that would kill them instantly. Sniper often said that skill always beats luck, and he still believed that. But it also probably helps to have good fortune on your side. His team was simply the most skilled and had good luck to boot. So they all survived and grew closer, known as the group who would pull through no matter what. Well, they were.
Sniper shook himself into the present, swallowing that ball of emotions that he had been keeping down this whole time. No emotions, not for him. They were only coworkers after all. His mates' lucky streak had simply run out. They all had cheated death more often than a dog wags its tail, and the reaper finally decided to collect his due. Except for himself and the sporty backtalker who Sniper could see was running back.
"Well, did ya find anything?" The marksman asked the panting boy. Scout nodded, sending hundreds of droplets flying from his hair.
"There's a big clearin' up ahead, about a hundred feet or so." He announced. "Just off da road. It's uphill though so pushin's gonna be a real pain in the *ss."
"Awright, we'll get it done faster if ya start pushing too." Sniper said. He was already getting sore from the straining he'd been doing. Scout, thankfully, didn't argue and backed up against the van's wall. The runner planted his feet against the watery road, and, with a powerful shove from his legs, the van surged forwards. The sudden movement caused Sniper to stumble, barely keeping his balance from the lack of vehicle under his hands. How the bloody h*ll did Scout move the van so much already? Well, Scout was always able to push a half ton bomb faster than anyone else, despite the reality of being the smallest of the team muscle wise. H*ll, maybe he did it just to spite reality.
"Hey, Aussie, I didn't start shovin' just so you can take a break! You ain't da one with a busted ankle, rememba?"
"Oh, right." Sniper got back onto the van pushing bandwagon. For a good ten minutes they struggled with grunts and thunder being the only conversations had between the two. The Australian's arms began to shake with effort. Or was it the cold, Sniper wasn't sure. Scout at first seemed to be doing better, but one good look at the shivering body and snarling face said otherwise.
"Oi! How much further till that clearing?" Sniper breathed. Scout paused and walked around the vehicle.
"We're at da entrance! We gotta turn da van, though! It's ta da right!" Scout called back.
"You get the van turned, Oi'll keep pushing!" The sound of the driver's door opening and slamming shut responded, and two seconds later, the van began to turn right.
With a grunt, Sniper dipped into whatever energy reserves he had left and shoved with all his might. It started off easily enough, until the van got off the road. The wheels sunk into the mud along with Sniper's boots. He shoved and struggled to dislodge his home from the slick earth. But he couldn't find any purchase from the ground, slipping and pushing himself from the vehicle. And Sniper felt his strength, like his foothold, slip away more and more. The rain beat him down. His arms shook. The once steady breathing devolved into sharp gasps.
And like a miracle, the van shot forwards along with the marksman. Grunting from the effort, the Australian Sisyphus continued his fight with gravity as the even ground began to rise. Sniper maneuvered to place his back to the van and pushed with his legs, not that it helped much, he wasn't incredibly keen on leg days. And it didn't take long at all for his energy in them to give out. The van was sinking back into the mud along with himself.
"Move it, Buster!" A deep city accent rang out as the weight on Sniper shoulders lifted. Scout had decided that the van was ready for independent life and went out to help his teammate. And he couldn't have had better timing as Sniper's knees buckled from exhaustion.
Mud covered his pants as the distant rolling thunder grew in frequency. Rain pounded against his back and deafened all other sounds. But, he couldn't stop now. Not yet, not until the van was in a secure area. Then he could rest with a nice, warm cup of joe. With shaking legs, Sniper stood and shoved his shoulder into the slick southern wall. Scout was doing the same, forcing the large vehicle on with his slim upper arm. Up and up they went, too focused on their task to chat(or too tired). His shoulder began to ache, his knees trembled from the chill and strain, and his lungs burned with ice as the cold air was forced into them with haste.
A sudden lurch was felt and the pair stumbled onto even ground as the van rolled onwards. It came to a crawl and stopped, like an old dog patiently waiting for their master to follow. At first they stood and stared at the van, both heaving and gulping in the misty air. Then, they turned to each other, and cheered. Well, cheering is what they felt like doing. Instead they whooped with gasps and laughed without breath. A sorry sight, really. But the triumph shared filled the atmosphere like the static of the storm.
"Well done, mate!" Sniper wheezed, still trying to regain a molecule of stamina. Scout only gave a thumbs up, too tired to talk through his vibrating teeth. After several minutes of rest with the rain pelting the two, they once again went on to push one more time.
It took many slips, dips, and a lot of trips from the driver's seat to the van's backside to get the camper to where Sniper felt it would be safe from any rogue lightning. An earsplitting crack voiced its approval as Scout and Sniper scurried into the dry sanctuary of the van, away from all electric bolts.
With a hearty slam, the door was shut, and the marksman and runner stood dripping and utterly exhausted. As Sniper slipped off the water coated jacket, Scout slumped into one of the cushioned table benches. The muffled tapdance of the raindrops spun across the ceiling and the occasional thunder would roar, but much more tame. After getting his bearings and breath, Sniper gave himself a look over.
Well, it wasn't the worst he'd ever been. Dark grey mud caked his knees and lower pant legs. His nice leather boots were completely soaked in both rainwater and dirt. And oooh boy, he would never take for granted dry socks again!
Plucking off his aviators and wiping them on his no longer drenched shirt, Sniper looked over at his companion.
Scout. Was. Wet. His walnut colored hair poured rivets down his face. That once light blue top was now a deep navy. Mud once again covered the boy's calves and shoes. And there was no hope left for his socks. Something once so innocent would now be tarnished with a light toffee brown instead of their snow white hue.
With a disgustingly wet plop, Scout dropped his drenched shirt onto the floor as he began searching through Sniper's small dresser.
"D-Do ya have a-any longer sleeved topss?" Scout asked, goosebumps ravaging his arms.
"Only button ups, really," Sniper admitted, also wanting to change into dry clothes. Luckily, his shirt at least was only slightly damp now. The raincoat did its duty and did it well. He placed his shades back on and watched Scout rummage through his clothes, too tired to care. Well, to care about that. Something else was now eating away at Sniper's mind and wasn't letting go anytime soon.
Scout had given him the jacket. After he had threatened him. And called him useless. And Scout still did everything he'd asked, well, ordered him to do, with only slight debate. The kid had been standing outside in the rain for who knows how long holding a flashlight for him, scouting on ahead, and moving the van all without a raincoat. And only wearing a short sleeved shirt. Not to mention that the water no doubt had gotten through his shoes too. And through his bandage. Sniper's mouth dried. Bugger
"Hey, uh" Scout looked up holding a warm grey tank, "how's… how's the arm."
"Um," Scout started, looking down at the topic in question, "I-I don't feel it. But I also can't feel my toes-s or fingas either, so I d-dunno."
The space pilfered out into an awkward silence. Sniper rubbed the back of his neck. Some rummaging broke the quiet as Scout began his search for a decent skirt. From where he stood, Sniper could see the large, faded bruise he'd found when patching Scout up.
"Gimme dat," Scout pointed to the raincoat as he slipped on a large orange shirt.
"Whot? Whoi are ya wanting to go outside again!?"
"Look man, I don't care what you say about da outdoors, but it is a way better bathroom dan a little glass jar." Sniper handed the jacket to the young man without a word. A nod of thanks, and Scout stepped out into the storm.
The marksman plopped down onto a cushioned bench. After a moment, he took off his worn boots and threw them near the door. Yeah, he had a place to put them but he had just spent, what, over an hour on his feet in the pouring rain, and they were killing him. Proper shoe placement could wait.
Sniper leaned his head back against the seat, resting. The rain water that had soaked his hair was now soaking the chair but it didn't matter, it would dry soon enough. With a sigh, Sniper ran a cold hand through his umber hair.
Wait a minute.
Wait a bloody minute…
Where was his hat?
…
P*ss.
It was currently two in the afternoon, the storm was still raging, and Scout had yet to return. Now, Sniper knew full well that the runner could take care of himself just fine. He was one of the three offense classes after all. But how long does it take for someone to take a bloody p*ss!? Not this long!
The time had been long enough that Sniper had changed into warm, dry clothes, gotten himself a hot caffeinated beverage, and started working on a lunch for the two of them. But Sniper had a feeling that Scout wouldn't eat it without a fight. If he ever came back.
Rubbing a towel over his hair, Sniper put the sandwich making ingredients back into the mini fridge of his van. While he wasn't a cold cut… what was that word, Spy would know, he's french… connoisseur! That's it. While he wasn't a cold cut connoisseur like Heavy was, Sniper could forge a mean venison and swiss. And that was exactly what he had made: two deer meat sandwiches for him and Scout. Now all he needed to do was wait for Scout to return.
Several more minutes passed and the runner had yet to make a grand entrance. During that time Sniper had pulled out his book on mushrooms and continued from where he left off. He was also half way done with his sandwich with the second remaining untouched. A distant thunder crack met his ears, and Sniper let the situation finally sink in.
Scout had been gone for at least thirty minutes. The storm hadn't lightened a smidge from when they had parked the van. So Scout should not be out strolling, especially when he had been shivering from the neck down beforehand. Maybe his ankle had given out again and he was stuck out in the rain? Or maybe he had up and left, feeling fed up with Sniper's temper? Or maybe…
No. No, that can't be it. That thing Scout talked about didn't exist, it was impossible. There was no feasible way it could exist. But every time the runner brought it up, that look he gave, his fidgets and twitches. And he was certain that whatever it was, had been following them since Sawmill.
"Dude, ya can't just send me out there alone! Not with dat thing around!"
In a flash, Sniper was pulling his boots on. Whether or not an alien monster thing existed, Scout was out there alone. And with no way to communicate, well, it pays to assume the worst. As he slipped on the other boot, Sniper reached for the Kukri he kept hung by the door. Cougar, Bear, or monstrous creature, it didn't matter. He would need a weapon, for his and Scout's sake. With his knife in hand, Sniper grabbed the handle and threw open the door-
"OW!" Came the voice of the person who he had just slammed the door into. "What da h*ll, man!?"
"Bloody h*ll, mate! What took ya so long!?" Sniper asked the runner. It appeared that Scout was just about to enter the van when Sniper threw the door into his face. He stood there rubbing his nose, glaring at the marksman with watery eyes. In the crook of his wounded arm was something leather.
"You're welcome." Scout scowled as Sniper took the hat and placed it on his head.
"Thanks, mate." He really did mean it. Scout pushed past him and threw off the dripping coat, letting himself fall onto a chair. "Where'd ya find it?"
"Back there, I dunno. Why do ya have ya knife?" He looked down at his Kukri and placed it back on it's hook.
"Ya were takin' so long that Oi thought that ya had gotten into a tussle with a wolf or bear."
"There are bears around here!?" Scout shot up, eyes wide.
"Well, yeah. This is the Pacific Northwest, after all."
"I coulda gotten eaten out there! Well, if it was a herd a bears. Like, thirty. Anything lower and I would have beaten all their stupid skulls in." There's the Scout Sniper knew and tolerated.
"With no weapons but your screaming and a nub for an arm, Oi doubt it."
"Whatever man," Scout slumped back into his seat, curling his lip, "I coulda just snapped a branch off and used dat. I grew up in Southside, I know how ta make anything a weapon. Even beer!" Sniper chuckled as he sat back down.
"Mate, Demo was proof enough that alcohol is a force to be reckoned with." He took a bite from his lunch and grabbed his book. "And Oi better see ya eat that bloody sandwich, Oi ain't seeing it go to waste."
"Fine. But only because I'm too tired ta deal with your s**t." Scout grumbled. The runner sat and ate his meal, taking far less time to finish than his friend. Sniper was busy once again reading up on the strange life form that is fungi. It went on like this for some time, with the occasional cough and comment about the weather. The quiet was broken when Scout decided to ask a question.
"Yo, Snipa?" Sniper hummed in acknowledgement, "So, when we get ta Landfall. And we talk ta da Administrator or whaddeva. Do ya think…" Scout trailed away in thought. The sudden quiet brought the sharpshooter's eyes up from the novel.
"Well, I mean, if we're da only ones left… Like, really, and da guys really are… Um, y'know. Well dat means dat we ain't got a team. And without a team, we can't fight."
"Ya worried about fighting RED alone?"
"What!? No! Who said anything about being worried! I ain't worried, and especially about fighting RED, they're a buncha cowards anyway. And dat's not even what I'm worried about, which I'm not, by da way! Ya just put a buncha words in my mouth, didn't even let me finish!-"
"Awright!" Sniper raised a hand to halt the flow of words erupting from Scout's mouth. "Oi get it! Jus' cut to the chase, mate!"
"Okay, jeez! Alright, um, okay, so ya know how we'll get switched around whenever a role is open?" Sniper nodded. "Well, what I'm sayin' is… We're missin a lotta teammates. Like, I don't rememba either team losing seven members at once, y'know? And… what if when hirin' new membas ta da team, she decides dat… maybe causa dis thing dat happened, we ain't… dat we're too damaged ta work anymore or some s**t."
Sniper got the picture. Scout was worried about losing their jobs. He set his book down. The idea hadn't crossed his mind. This situation was much different from the battlefield. It was too unusual, too… spontaneous? Was that the word? Either way, they shouldn't be fired from something they couldn't control, right?
"Oi wouldn't worry about that, Buckshot," Sniper took a sip of his lukewarm coffee, "as long as we can fight and shoot, our incomes should be safe."
"Yeah…, for you." Scout mumbled, picking at the crust he'd left behind.
"Whot's with the long face? You can still fight, you're still standing aren't ya?" the runner gave him a glare.
"Did ya forget somethin', bub?" He growled, raising his arms into the air and waving his one hand. His one… oh.
Sniper had forgotten. Scout only ever blabbed about his ankle, and he was pretty capable despite missing five digits. But that was more minute tasks like picking things up and gesturing. And holding his powerful scatterguns and shotguns would need both hands to fire. Especially that sawed off one, The Force-A-Nature. He'd seen Scout use it from time to time, it had the kickback of a cocaine infused horse. Without a proper grip, the weapon would at best fly from his hands and at worst, knock him out while doing so. In fact, the only thing Scout wouldn't have trouble wielding now would be his trusty bats. And even then, he wouldn't be able to actually bat anything with them, he could only bash heads in.
Scratching the back of his neck, Sniper gestured to his cup.
"Ya want me to make ya some?"
"Nah, it's way too bitter, man. Da way you make it is gross!"
"Ya do know that ya can put stuff in it to change the flavor, right?" Scout's ears and cheeks turned a funny shade of red.
"Yeah! I knew dat! Why wouldn't I know dat? Only a moron wouldn't know dat! Yeah, I totally knew." Clearly.
"Oi got some stuff that ya can add. Oi'll brew ya a cup and ya can add whatever ya want in it."
"Okay. Wait," Sniper paused his standing, "Did you just call me 'Buckshot' earlier?"
"Yeah, ain't a problem is it?"
"I dunno, why'd ya call me it?" Sniper scratched his chin in thought.
"Fits ya, Oi guess, It's another name for shotgun ammo."
"Huh," Scout had the slightest of grins on his face, "Yeah, dat's, yeah, nah, dat's a pretty cool name."
Sniper had no idea what Scout had put into his coffee, and frankly, he didn't want to know. It smelled slightly like cinnamon, which was impossible, because Sniper didn't own any of that spice. Either way, his companion was sitting across from him drinking in contentment while once again drawing… something, on a torn piece of notebook paper. It kind of looked like a self portrait, but different.
"The storm hasn't stopped." Sniper grumbled, resting on his palm while finishing the book.
"So we're staying here then?" Scout deadpanned, erasing a lopsided eye.
"Looks like it."
"Then I call da bed." Sniper chuckled.
"Ya can't just call something you don't own. It's moi bed, and Oi'll be using it tonight. Ya can have it tomorrow."
"Aw, c'mon man!" Scout whined, looking up with an exaggerated sad face. "I had ta stand out in da rain and everything!"
"Wonder how that feels. And your puppy eyes ain't gonna work on me."
"Crap. But I also gotcha your hat back! That's gotta count for something!"
"It's counting for tomorrow. Oi'm having the bed tonight."
"Come on, Snipa! Thought we had a pattern goin' on!"
"The first two nights ya had the bed, so Oi'm cashing in on moi second night." Sniper skimmed the final pages and closed the book.
"I'll arm wrestle ya for it!" Scout stood in excitement, rocking the van a second time. The marksman peered over his aviators at the younger man.
"No."
"What? Too scared ta lose ta a hunk like me?" Scout smirked while jabbing his thumb into his chest. Sniper just stared at him. For a very. Long. Time.
"Fine," Scout nearly jumped for joy and then tried to play it cool, "But when Oi win, Oi don't want to hear your sore losing."
"If ya win, Jack*ss! I'm getting that mattress!" He sat back down, his oversized teeth shining with a smile. Sniper put his arm onto the table. Scout followed. Their hands clasped together.
"Ya ready?" Scout nodded with haste, his fingers drumming along Sniper's hand.
"Three,"
"Two,"
"One!" Like the lightning outside, the fight began in a flash. Sniper instantly got the upper hand with his stronger muscles. But it was slow going. Because Scout had one advantage that maybe he didn't even realize he had. His grip was like iron!
Scout's hand was crushing his own, even though it was much smaller. And each time Sniper made progress, his strength would ebb from the painful compression of his limb, giving Scout enough help to bring the match back to square one.
It went on like that for a while before Sniper felt Scout's hand begin to tremble. His strength was giving out. But Sniper's was too. The idea of sleeping on the bench resurfaced.
The short cushions, far too small for the gangly Australian. The painful cricks he had gotten after those nights. And simply getting no rest from sleeping. Those thoughts were what won him the match.
With a determined grunt and burst of strength, Sniper pushed against Scout until the boy's fist met the tabletop with a hearty slam!
"D*mnnit!" Scout seethed as he blew on his bruising knuckles.
"Told ya I would win," Sniper pointed out, waving his hand around to dispel the pain.
"Yeah, whuddeva. But it was close! I nearly had ya! You were on da ropes, admit it!"
"Nah, Oi was just going easy on ya. To give ya a false sense of hope." Scout glared at him.
"Screw you! No you didn't! Ya barely won!" Sniper only smirked in response, both at the thought of getting his bed again, and to hide the pain caused by Scout's steel grasp.
A coiling snake of grey smoke climbed ever higher from that lit cigarette. In an unknown location, in an unknown building, and in an unknown room, she sat. The leather armrests of her chair were the victims of the rhythmic stabbing her claw-like nails gave as she drummed them in thought. Pinned between her spider-like fingers was the lit cigarette, giving life to the ever circling serpent filling the room with nicotine aftertaste. She brought it to her lips and breathed in deep; keen eyes darting over and analyzing the wall of screens in front of her. And with a silent sigh, the smoke escapes her ancient lungs.
A quiet click from the door behind her was the only thing that could pry her attention away from those flickering televisions, if only for a second. A moment passed before she finally spoke.
"Have you managed to contact any of the BLU team, Miss Pauling?" She drawled, her tone implying that the entire matter was beneath her.
"No, Administrator. All phone lines and radios have been met with static and when I went to Harvest to question RED, they hadn't seen them either." The mousy girl behind her replied. She walked up to The Administrator's chair, standing side by side with the older woman. Her eyes filled with questions as she looked into those screens. "Do you believe you've figured what happened?"
Before them ran the security footage of the BLU Base of Sawmill. The day seemed to go by as usual. As usual as a day can be with hired killers. But all the cameras had been cut out around the same time. At four in the afternoon. Then all there was left was static. The Administrator had been analyzing the exact frames taken before the feed was cut, searching for any sign of sabotage from within the BLU team. But they were all accounted for in the footage. Heavy, Soldier, Demo, Scout, and Medic had all been in the Mess Hall, Spy was in his room reading a rather large novel, Engie and Pyro were in the Armory fixing Pyro's flamethrower, and Sniper was sitting in his nest watching the world.
The Administrator took another smoke infused breath and hummed.
"It would seem that our missing BLU's were surprisingly tidy. They didn't leave many breadcrumbs." That wasn't particularly true, she had sent Miss Pauling to the base when the BLU Team hadn't shown up on the train for Harvest. Miss Pauling had seen the mess left when she had arrived. Whatever had happened, hadn't happened quietly.
Guns were strewn about, blood covered the bottom floor, and the building was left a wreck. She had searched long and hard around the base, and yet her search still remained in vain. No one, no bodies, no living bodies were found. The trail had efficiently gone cold. Except…
"And have you found any sign of Mr. Mundy's van?"
"I have interviewed the small town located near Sawmill, no one has seen the van I described."
"Very well," The Administrator took another drag, "This will be your newest assignment, the others can be postponed till it's completed.
"You will inform RED that any and all matches shall be temporarily cancelled due to a "BLU Unionization." If the RED Team makes any attempt to question or to actually unionize themselves, you will tell them that their "vacation" will go unpaid.
"After this, you will track down Mr. Mundy, or whoever had taken his vehicle. Once you have tracked them down, you will bring them back for questioning and to be held until we have this situation under control."
"Yes, Ma'am."
"Do not fail me." Her version of goodbye was not a pleasant one, but Miss Pauling nodded her head and exited the room. The Administrator rose and waltzed over to a screen in the far left. As she approached, her sharp eyes narrowed at the lone figure plastered on the electric wall.
The Australian was sitting on a crate, resting his rifling against his thigh. From the angle the camera had been angled, she could hardly spot the small earpiece in Mr. Mundy's visible ear. On it, hardly more than two pixels, was a slim, blue light. He had been talking to someone. Someone on the team.
"Well, Mr. Mundy," The Administrator droned, her eyes venomous, "I hope for your sake that whatever it is you're looking at it what we're looking for." Even though it was a still image, Helen recognized the emotion in the BLU Sniper's face. He had been looking at something. Something that brought fear into his pixelated eyes.
*Looks down at this chapter with pride.* Ah built that :). But seriously, sorry this chapter took so long to write, I am a human with human needs like eating and sleep. I also had to draw a picture for my little brother's birthday, he was turning nine. If there are some spelling mistakes or the accents aren't consistent, sorry bout that, I just wanted to get this chapter out there and to the public since I kept you waiting so long. Also, what do you think of Sniper's nickname for Scout? It just slipped out while typing and I really like it. I also explained how the team's work and in case it wasn't clear, respawn isn't a thing in this story. I guess I just got tired with the constant plots involving respawn getting deactivated when more creative routes can be taken. Well, comment/review if you so choose, they're always so nice to read, and have a nice day!